Just Come Home
by shadows-of-1832
Summary: ""I'll be home before you know it."... It was seven months ago when he told her that." Established Enjonine. Modern-era. Three-shot. *Does make slight references to warfare and its conditions
1. Part 1

"I'll be home before you know it." he said.

"Time will fly by. You'll barely know that I'm gone." he said.

"I'll call you whenever I get the chance. If I can video chat with you, I'll do that. If all I can do is write to you, then I'll do so everyday." he said.

Seven months ago was when he told her that.

That was the last time she saw him face-to-face, the last time she felt him close to her, where she could feel his fingertips brush against her sides and touch of his lips lingering on her own. The last time she saw him in person, where if she needed him to reassure her of something, regardless of the matter, he could with the sweetness of his words, the gentleness of his voice, the comfort of his embrace. The last time she saw him hug their little boy, using simple words to tell him that daddy was going on a trip.

"_Daddy, when you coming home?" the four-year-old asks as his father once more before his father released him of the hug._

"_December." he tells him, and places firm hands on his son's shoulders before bending down to his height. "And in the meantime, I need you to promise me something."_

_The little boy nods, waiting for whatever words may follow. "What, daddy?"_

_The father looks up at his wife, then returns his focus to his son. "I need you to watch your mother for me while I'm gone. I need you to make sure she doesn't get hurt, and that you be a big boy and do as you're told, helping her around the house when she asks. Can you promise me that?"_

_He nods in reply. "I promise."_

_In the moments following, there's an announcement on the loudspeaker, informing them that his plane is about to leave. He gives his son one last hug before moving on to his wife, giving her one last hug, one final kiss on the lips, and then he's gone all too soon. She didn't even have a chance to warn him, to tell him to be careful out there. She watches him board the aircraft with her son, both of them waving back at him as he turns around to wave at them, saying goodbye, before he disappears behind his comrades_.

She didn't see him after that, and it took two days for him to make any kind of contact with him, which worried her until the phone rang. After that, he didn't miss a day, whether it'd be calling her, e-mailing her, writing a letter, or video-chatting her.

"_Hey, shouldn't you be in bed?" he says during one of the video chats during the second month of his tour. Their son is sitting on her lap, giggling with glee, looking between the screen and his mother._

"_Mommy said I could stay up until you could say good night." the boy replies, resting his head on his mother's shoulder._

"_She did?" he asks in mock-surprise, and the boy answers with a bouncy nod._

"_Yes, she did." she cuts in, messing with her son's curls with the knowledge that he hates it when people mess with his hair as much as his father does. "And now it is time for you to go to bed."_

"_But I don't want to!" he whines before a yawn escapes his mouth._

"_Matthieu…" his father says in a tone of warning. "Listen to your mother."_

_The four-year-old frowns and does that stereotypical huff of a young child, his blue eyes narrowed in the direction of his father. This doesn't last long, however, and as his father says "_Bonne nuit_," he waves in the direction of the screen, a grin on his face as his mother leads him to his room. _

_She disappears for about fifteen minutes, and when she returns, he is still there, waiting for her, his eyes still facing towards her. The brightness of the background allows her to conclude it's daytime where he is, and based upon what he has told her before, it's morning, while outside where she is, it's pitch black. She doesn't care, though, staying up late just to see him, because she doesn't know when she'll be able to do so again._

"_Sorry I took so long." she apologizes, brushing a stray piece of hair from her face. "Matthieu was still upset a bit for having to go to bed."_

"_It's understandable." he replies empathetically, because there have been times where he had the same problem, as well as times where she has gone out to hang out with some of her friends or her sister and she has come home to her husband chasing their son around the house in their nightclothes after a lame attempt to get him to bed. "At least he's in bed."_

"_Right…" she trails off, biting her lip in nervousness, despite the hint of joy in her eyes, which dart to a photograph by the computer. She opens her mouth to speak, but by the pause in her speech, he says something first._

"_Is something wrong, Eponine?" he asks, concern flooded in his tone. She sees the look of worry in his eyes, and she smiles and shakes her head._

"_No, Enjolras, everything is fine." she answers, reaching for the photograph that's just inches away. She observes it with hesitation, and has to return her gaze to the screen to make sure he's still there, which he is, appearing as if he was trying to see what she held in her hands. She doesn't blame him though for his curiosity, and a small laugh escapes her lips. "Everything is great. Actually…"_

"_What?" His eyes are wide with mixed emotion, and she has to stop herself from just blurting it all out, knowing that right now, the information she is withholding from him is killing him on the inside. "Eponine!"_

"_Calm your anxious butt down and be quiet for a moment so I can tell you." Eponine teases, a smirk on her face. She's got him scared now, most likely, which isn't the best thing for him at the moment, after what he has to deal with on a day-to-day basis. She sees him relax slightly, but he's still tense. "It's nothing bad, if that is of any use."_

"_Then what?"_

"_Remember what we talked about a few weeks before you left?" she asks, and he nods his head in reply. "Then, I suppose you remember what we did basically every night the week before you left?"_

_He nods in reply, a small hint of red appearing on his cheeks, and a part of her swears she hears a wolf-whistle in the background (followed by a "Shut up, Courfeyrac!"). "Of course…"_

"_Well, this morning, after dropping Matthieu off at pre-school, I went to the doctor's office because lately, I haven't exactly been feeling myself. They ran some tests, and…" she holds the photograph (or more accurately, the sonogram) up enough so he can see it from his side of the screen. _

"_No…" he gasps, and she nods excitedly. "Oh my…"_

"_You're going to be a father again!" she officially tells him, and she can sense he wants no more than to be right there beside her, holding her in his arms, to share this together in person. She wants that, too. She doesn't want this division between them, just seeing him through the computer screen. She doesn't want him to be on another continent across the sea, thousands of miles apart. She wants to feel him again, and know he's there to stay, not going anywhere else._

_She lets the news sink in for a few moments before daring to speak again, when he asks, "How far along are you?"_

"_About eight weeks, they estimate." Eponine replies, a small smile upon her face. "Which means by the time you get back, you'll have a heavily expectant wife on your hands."_

"_Something to look forward to." Enjolras pulls his chair in, closer to the computer. "And I _will _be looking forward to it."_

_They both chuckle at this, but then there's a long silence surrounding them before she speaks again, and the mood isn't all-so joyful anymore._

"_I really miss you, Enjolras." Eponine wipes a tear from her eye. "So does Matthieu."_

"_I know." he answers quietly. "I miss you both."_

"_I worry about you all the time, every second of the day." She tries to hide her falling tears, but it's of no use. "I'm afraid one day you won't call or write or be on the other side of that screen, and there won't be anymore because…_Merde,_ Enjolras, how could I do this without you? How would I tell Matthieu, or explain to someone who you never had the chance to meet that you'll never see them because of _this_, of what you do?!"_

"_You won't have to do it without me, because I _am_ coming home." He remains positive, but she can tell that a small part of him is second-guessing that. "I _will_ be coming home five months from now, don't you _ever _doubt that!"_

"_How can I after all that the press puts out? How can I after your close call with a bullet to your head?"_

"_How did you—?"_

"_Corinne _and_ Azelma!" she snaps before he can finish. "And I'm pretty sure you know who they got that from, so don't try to pretend it never happened!"_

"_I am still fine in this present moment, and I will be fine all the way up to when I get home, beyond that." _

"_You can't promise me that!"_

"_I can promise you that I'll be careful."_

_She struggles to argue with that, not because it's late at night and she should be in bed, but because at this point, it's all he really can promise. He cannot guarantee he'll make it home, but all that either of them can do at this point is hope he'll come safe and sound._

During the day, she went through her tasks aimlessly but not carelessly, making sure that she did her job right before moving on to another task. She would mop the kitchen floors with the Swiffer, vacuum the carpeted rugs throughout their home, fold her son's laundry as well as her own, among various other tasks.

Being a stay-at-home mom wasn't originally her plan, but shortly before their son was born, she decided it was the best decision for her. It was a decision Enjolras had support half-heartedly for the longest time, claiming that just because she was a mother she wasn't expected to stay home raising whatever children they had, and that she should be allowed to go to work if she wanted to. Eventually, he came around.

She has come across times where she does want to return to her job outside of home, but each time, she counters herself, finding that she enjoyed the anticipation of seeing what her son did in school that day and waiting for Enjolras to return home for a rough day from teaching high schoolers French and American history.

The months come and go, the time growing longer as the days grew shorter. The weather grew colder. Matthieu started kindergarten. The time for Enjolras' homecoming drew near.

Every now and then, she would come across some of her husband's students, or former students, when picking up her son, most likely because they were picking up their younger siblings.

"_It's not the same without him_." most would say. "_It's like without him, school's just…It isn't the same_."

"_I know what that is like_." she would reply.

Almost all asked, "_When will he be coming home_?"

"_December_." she would answer.

_Not soon enough_, she would think.

One night on the video-chat, he was not on the other side of the screen, and her heart immediately dropped, though Combeferre was there. It was apparent he noticed her tears, and it took him ten minutes to get her to calm down before he can tell her that Enjolras in fine, just being checked out after an explosion had occurred close by to where he was surveying.

"_He fell from the top of the transport vehicle when the bomb went off and may have hit his head, possible concussion." Combeferre reports, since the tears are finally gone. "Joly's taking a look at him as we speak, and an eye may be kept on him for a few days before he can go back out to the field, just as a precaution, but otherwise he's fine, so don't you worry about a thing. I'll have him call you once Joly is finished with him."_

The promise was kept, and it was about two hours later when he called her.

"_Take it easy." he tells her when the words come out of her mouth so quickly, almost without taking a breath. "I'm cleared, no concussion or anything or the sort. Stop worrying."_

"_Stop worrying?!" her voice rises in irritation. "A bomb went off near you. What if you were closer to it? You could have had more than just a hit on the head—You could have died!"_

"_But I didn't." he states calmly. "I didn't have anything worse than that. I could have, but I didn't. Calm down, because that's a good thing."_

_She takes a deep breath, letting go, or at least trying to, of the possibility of what she could have lost. "I'm sorry."_

"_There's no need to be—you know that." he says softly. "But you should not be stressing yourself out like that. It worries me when you let yourself get so worked up about the small things like that."_

"_I have the right to be afraid for you, because I never know when we could be having our last conversation with one another."_

"_You shouldn't have to, and the moment my feet hit American soil, I will never look back, I promise."_

"_You mean…?"_

"_I'm going to work on getting myself out of the service soon." Enjolras promises, and through the phone line, she can picture him nodding with a small smile on his face. "No more leaving home, no more nights alone. I'll be there when you go to sleep and still be there when you wake up."_

"_I would love that."_

It was that night in which she dreamt of what it would be like to finally have him home again, to fall asleep and wake up with him there beside her, his arm draped over her to bring her closer. She saw their son being taught how to play baseball by his father while she stood at the sidelines, watching the father and son bond as she held a young infant in her arms.

It all felt so real and when she turned over in bed to tell him of it, she was harshly reminded that he wasn't home, and everything for her became lonely again, even with her son right across the hall and the growing child within her. When she felt the latter nudge when her hand was on her swollen stomach, and a small smile forms on her face.

"_I know…Me, too_."

The remaining months pass by slowly, her anticipation growing as the day drew nearer. Her son had a wider smile on his face with the knowledge that he was soon going to be able to see his father again soon. She was in a better mood herself, despite her being in third trimester and rather uncomfortable, she tried to make the best of it.

"_One more week!" she says in the middle of their conversation during a video chat, and she can tell just by looking at the smile upon is face that he is as equally excited as she is. It's only a few more days of worrying before she doesn't have to fear for his life, a few more long days without him before they can be together again._

"_I'm ready for it." he replies, almost as cheerfully sounding as her. "And how about Matthieu?"_

"_He can't wait." Eponine answers before her hand glides over her stomach. "Neither can this little one."_

"_Well, I am simply eager to come home, Eponine." _

"_We can barely wait." she says with a little bit of laughter in her voice. "How are the rest of the boys?"_

"_Courfeyrac is quite excited about finally being able to meet his little girl for the first time, meanwhile Joly and Bossuet are fretting over Musichetta because their baby is due any time now. Combeferre is glad that he'll be able to see his wife again, while Jehan has something planned for Azelma when he gets home, (and you didn't hear it from me)." Enjolras hints before leaning back in the chair. "In other words, everyone is ready for the journey home. Most of us already have our bags packed, my exceptions being the photographs I have of you and Matthieu, and the sonograms of the baby that you sent me. Our little one certainly has grown, haven't they?"_

"_Yes, and I've gotten huge." Eponine laughs lightly. She stands up and turns so he can see a profile of her. "I mean, look!"_

"_You're still beautiful." _

"_My, Grantaire was right—love has turned you into such a sap."_

_He chuckles before jokingly saying, "Then I guess I'm your sap."_

The week went by more slowly than she felt it ever had. She had the feeling it was never going to end, that it was taking much longer than it should have been. The hours seemed to drag on and on, and it was going on forever. She could tell their son shared the same feeling, just by the way he picked at his food at the dinner table or the way he went about after school had ended for the day.

He called her the day before his flight would leave, reminding her that he might not have the opportunity to contact her during the flight.

She didn't worry so much about him with that knowledge.

Eponine waits in the air base for him with Musichetta, Combeferre's wife, Corinne, Azelma, Cosette, and Courfeyrac's wife, Marie, who is cradling their three-month-old daughter in her arms. Bahorel, Feuilly, and Grantaire wait close by, awaiting the return of the friends who left them behind. She would have brought Matthieu with her, but since he hadn't been feeling well, she left him with a sitter (AKA: Uncle Gavroche).

She can hardly contain herself as the seconds tick by, and she intently stares at the clock, listening for any signs of his plane landing. She must have made her nervousness and anticipation noticeable, for she doesn't realize she's bouncing her legs up and down until her sister places a hand on her knee.

"Calm down." Azelma whispers. "They'll be here soon."

"I know…" Eponine answers with a sigh. "It just feels like it's taking forever."

"That's because it's been forever."

It's about then they hear the plane roaring over their heads, and they all look at each other knowingly, the moment finally arriving. They watch several other families and friends of the other soldiers rush past them, and the trio of men nearly do the same before turning around and assisting Eponine and Musichetta from their seats.

They all manage to see the landing of the plane by the time they get out of empty hanger, joining crowd.

For a distance, she has difficulty seeing the plane unload, and she has difficulty making out the faces as one-by-one, the soldiers and their comrades descend the stairs. She's pretty sure she sees Combeferre, who was difficult to miss with his somewhat taller height, as well as Marius with his reddish-brown hair, and possibly Bossuet, Courfeyrac, and Jehan following close behind. She expects to possibly see Joly and Enjolras with them, but she doesn't, and she begins to wonder if she somehow missed them.

After a few minutes, she sees Courfeyrac standing beside Marie, fawning over their daughter. She sees Combeferre embracing Corinne, not showing any signs of letting go. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Cosette run up to surprise Marius and jumps, nearly causing him to fall over. Turning around, she notices Jehan on one knee in front of her sister, who has tears in her eyes and nods, and there's an applause from the viewable Amis. She sees Bossuet placing a kiss on Musichetta's forehead, no sign of Joly anywhere.

Still no sign of Enjolras.

She's no longer wondering, but worrying.

Her first instinct is to call out his name, but with so many voices, her cry would barely make it through the crowd. With that decided, she approaches Combeferre, and when he sees her, the joy on his face vanishes.

She knows immediately that this is not a good sign.


	2. Part 2

**Author's Note: Happy Holidays, everyone! Hope you had a wonderful day! **

**Also, remember when I originally had this being a two-shot? It's actually going to be a three-shot!**

**Thank you all so much for your support, and now on with Part 2!**

_She's no longer wondering, but worrying._

_Her first instinct is to call out his name, but with so many voices, her cry would barely make it through the crowd. With that decided, she approaches Combeferre, and when he sees her, the joy on his face vanishes._

_She knows immediately that this is not a good sign._

She notices him try to look away, as if her presence pains him, as if being there causes him both physical and emotional pain. As the physical distance between them lessens, he still seems far away. Corinne appears to whisper something to him, a question of some sort, and there is some form of reply, but Éponine was still too far away from hearing it.

Bossuet and Musichetta come closer, the former's head hanging as if in shame. Musichetta's gaze is also directed towards the ground, seemingly to avoid her as well. Éponine can't help but notice that Joly is still not with them, but like Enjolras, she had not caught him exiting the plane.

Combeferre, with a gentle voice, asks her to follow him, to sit down, and Corinne, Musichetta, and Bossuet follow close behind. She can tell from obvious signs that she is the only member of this group being left in the dark, and this panics her even more. This begins to remind her of those films, where everyone who cares asks the recipient of bad news, or the occasional good, to sit down to hear it, and she doesn't like it one bit.

Corinne directs her to a seat and stands by, a comforting hand placed upon her shoulder, but she does not find herself comforted by it at all, not without the knowledge of her husband's fate. Musichetta stands on the opposite side, and unlike Corinne, makes no attempt to comfort her, knowing full-well that even the slightest gesture would not aid her at all. Bossuet stands on the opposite side of Musichetta, leaving Combeferre alone to say it all.

"Éponine…" he begins, getting down to his knees to be at eye-level with her. Musichetta does her best to reach down a place a hand atop hers, but soon doesn't bother and the guide does so instead. He shakes his head dolefully, as if he could not get the necessary words out. "Oh, I had this so well thought out on the plane!"

"It's better just to tell her outright, dear." Corinne says gently with a weak smile. "She's going to found out one way or another, and we all know it's better to hear it from you than from someone else."

Éponine begins shaking her head, and the tears that had been forming in her eyes start to fall, and no one does anything to stop them, since it's of no use. She knows exactly what's going on, and she doesn't need them for her to know what it is. It's her worst nightmare come true!

Azelma makes her appearance and rushes to her sister's side, and even her sister's embrace isn't enough for her. Her husband is gone, she knows it. Her children's father, gone. Her best friend, gone. Everything he was to her, gone.

The one day she doesn't worry about him and this happens. She shouldn't have let her guard down, should not have let him convince her there was nothing to worry about, and it's for that reason she begins to blame his death on herself, that perhaps if she had feared for him until she saw him step off that plane, he'd still be alive.

"It's not your fault." Azelma says quietly to her, as if she could hear the thoughts of her sister. "You wouldn't have known, there was nothing you could do."

"I shouldn't have stopped worrying…" she sniffs. "I should…I shouldn't have let my guard down."

"He'll be home soon, Ép."

"He won't be alive, 'Zelm. He won't be the same."

"Yes, he will. Have some faith." Azelma says comfortingly. "You just need to have some faith."

"He's dead, 'Zelm, haven't you heard? Did your precious 'fiancé' not dare to speak of it?" Éponine hisses, the glare in eyes quite apparent. Her sister's stunned look is all she needs to continue on. "I suppose not, but then again, why dampen the mood of your engagement, anyway?"

"Éponine, that's enough." Musichetta says firmly. "You shouldn't be making false assumptions without knowing the full story."

The mourning wife snorts at her. "I don't see you doing the same for Joly."

"That's because there's no reason to." Combeferre cuts in, and there's a daring look in Éponine's eyes that tells him to shut up, but he does not let that deter him from speaking, for he has had many years to become immune to such a threatening look. She opens her mouth to argue, but something tells him that there are no words for her to say.

"What do you mean?" she asks after the passing of several silent moments. "What do you mean, 'there's no reason to'?"

"He's alive, Éponine." Combeferre says with a breath. "At least, he was we boarded the plane."

_Alive?!_ Did she hear right? After all the tears she let fall and the lashes she dealt, it was for no reason at all?

"Enjolras…he's alive?" She has to make sure of this before she lets her hopes get too high, because who knows how many times that has happened and left her crestfallen.

Combeferre nods, but she can pick up that something still doesn't seem right.

"Then where is he?" she questions, and then stands up, hurriedly scanning the scene around them for his face. "Where is he?"

The guide's eyes become pained and he gently pushes Éponine back in her seat. "He's still there."

"Why?"

He turns his head, taking a deep breath, and then returns his focus towards her. "The night before we left, almost right after he spoke with you, a few of us were ordered to go check out of what was supposedly suspicious activity, Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Enjolras, and I. We didn't argue, we just followed given orders.

"None of us were thinking it was going to be anything, possibly an animal or something caught in the shrubbery in the dark of night…except it wasn't…" He stops there, as if he can no longer speak further, his voice gone. Courfeyrac, who she hadn't realized had joined in up until now, picked up for him.

"He saw something none of us saw. He pointed towards an area of tall, dried-up grass, and we all heard the rustling." Courfeyrac says in a grave tone. "We had pointed our guns to shoot, but then he told us to run, and when you are told to run, you don't think about it, you do it and if you find the need for it, question it later. We ran, and he followed us closely behind. We heard gunshots, and then he went down."

"He told us to carry on without him, to warn everyone else back at camp that danger was near, but we couldn't just leave him there." Bossuet adds. "You shouldn't leave a man behind, not ever."

"I told them to do as he said." Combeferre gains the strength to speak again. "That I would take care of him while they went back to inform everyone else. He protested, saying that he would never forgive himself if I was killed trying to tend to him. Not much longer after that, there was an explosion, not too far off, perhaps from a grenade, and then more gunshots. They missed me…he wasn't as lucky…I picked him up, the only thing going through my head being, 'Get him out of there.'

"Many were leaving by the time with reached camp, to do what they could with what we saw, and at this point, I see blood dripping onto my feet. Joly must have heard something before we got there, and following that, almost everything was a blur. They took him from me, his blood on my hands. I…I haven't seen him since… but he was still alive." Combeferre's voice is strained, trying to hold back his own tears threatening to fall. "Joly accompanied him to Kandahar, since his injuries were difficult for me to treat on the field.

"Last I heard, before our flight took off, was that Enjolras wasn't going any further until he was stabilized, and Joly stayed behind with him."

"Once he's stable, they'll fly him to Germany, and from there, the States." Courfeyrac puts in. "That might not be anytime soon, though—He flat-lined twice in Kandahar, according to Joly."

She had been listening the whole time, and almost every word stung. It was like taking a knife and stabbing her with it until she can no longer survive, her blood all over the floor. She felt numb by the point of him getting shot, but the pain made one more stab at her when Courfeyrac mentions that he flat-lined…twice.

Flat-lined, as in there were two chances where the only way he would come home was within a coffin with a flag draped across the top of it. Flat-lined, as in he basically died…twice.

She hears Courfeyrac hiss in pain after receiving a slap on the arm by Marie by her free hand.

"Was that necessary?" she questions rhetorically, glaring at him. "The poor girl was expecting her husband home today. It's bad enough she learned of the story behind it, but to tell her he flat-lined? She's expecting and so much stress isn't good for either her or the baby!"

"She was going to hear it eventually!" he argues. "Better for her to find out now before she feels betrayed by the fact we didn't tell her!"

One-by-one, the others join in, and it eventually escalates into a group quarrel.

Éponine storms off, not wanting to hear any more of it, and she's sure no one noticed her get up and leave. It was all too much for her to hear, the fighting (in more than one context), Enjolras' state…it was too much.

She is about half-way to her car when her sister's voice appears out of nowhere. She stops to turn around and see Azelma sprinting to her, calling out her name in one of the most desperate voices she can think of. Éponine is tempted to continuing walking, despite her sister inevitably catching up with her, but at this point, she doesn't care. Her husband still isn't home and lying somewhere within a war zone. She's angry, upset, emotional, disappointed…all at the same time. She just wants everything to return to normalcy, without having to fear for him constantly, over and over again, like a broken record. She just wants him home.

As she predicted, Azelma had caught up with her, with her breath trying to catch up with her.

"Slow down, will you, Ép?" her sister begs, her breath resembling that of pants. "I know it's rough, and that things aren't going as you like, but everything will turn out fine."

"Certainly, because _everything _that I have heard within the past few hours has been absolutely _perfect_!" Éponine spits sarcastically. "It's almost like a dream come true!"

"Ép—"

"No, I mean, really!" she continues, only to slowly begin to break down. "My husband isn't home, only to find out that the reason that is...is because he was…he was shot…and nearly died, and for…for a time, actually did die…Twice…"

She lets herself collapse to the snowy ground, not caring who sees and how much, not caring about much at all, and she doesn't bother to stop her tears, not even trying. She knows her sister has gone to the ground as well, but only to help calm and comfort her sister in such undesired circumstances.

"He promised, 'Zelm!" she cries. "He was fine, he was going to come home unscathed, for the most part, and then this happens! We don't know when he'll even _be_ home. Tell me, what am I to do?"

Her sister doesn't say much and just wraps her arms around her, in hopes of trying to get her to at least calm down. This is the worst she has ever seen her sister. When their father chose to take his rage out on them, she would step up and take the abuse so neither her or Gavroche would feel the harsh blows to the cheek, the kick in the stomach, the hard shove-and-pin to the wall. Rarely then did she witness her sister break down when the black/blue marks formed on her skin. Seeing Éponine cry and break down like this…it hurts her, too.

"I'll stay with you and Matthieu tonight. Jehan will understand."

"No." Éponine sniffs. "Don't let me be the reason that your reunion with Jehan is ruined tonight."

"I think that you need me more than he does right now." Azelma counters in a calm and gentle voice, taking out a tissue from her pocket and wiping the tears off her sister's face with it. She helps ease her sister to her feet, and somewhat guides her as they walk along to Éponine's car. "How about I drive?"

"But the—

"Éponine, as your sister, it would be unwise of me to let you drive home in such a state of mind. Besides, I have to go there anyway because my car is parked in your driveway."

"What about Jehan?" she asks, and almost out of nowhere, the man appears beside the car, his large backpack in hand.

"I'm all set, if that's what you are referring to." he answers before turning to Azelma, who has just been handed her sister's car keys. "Did I miss something?"

"I'm driving Éponine home, and my car's there anyway." Azelma answers. "You coming along, or do the boys have some celebration planned?"

He shakes his head. "Not tonight that I know of, so—

"Hop in." Éponine gestures to the front passenger side door as she opens the driver's side rear door. "You might as well join us and save the trouble of you trying to find a way home or riding your bike in the snow."

"His bike's in the storage closet, anyway." Azelma informs her, a hint of laughter in her voice. "He'd be better off walking home."

"You'd make me walk home?!" Jehan asks, sounding shocked by the idea.

"Welcome to the family." Éponine smiles at him before climbing into the car. "You might as well get used to it."

When she gets home, she unlocks the door and walks inside. She stops when her sister asks if she'll be fine, and she answers the same way she had earlier, not wanting to ruin her sister's night with her now-fiancé. She could tell her sister was reluctant in leaving, but when she was reminded that their brother was still there, she appeared to be more assured and then she left a little more easily.

Éponine finds Gavroche lying on the couch, looking through one of his textbooks, and appears to be near to startled when he comes upon the realization that she's home. He stands up from the couch and approaches her, embracing her when the distance allows it.

"I am so sorry, Ép." he tells her, patting her on the shoulder.

"How did you—?"

"Courfeyrac called me about twenty minutes ago and told me about it." Gavroche replies, his voice concerned. "How are you holding up?"

"The best that I can, I suppose." she answers with a small shrug as they part. "How's Matthieu?"

"First off, he seemed better after you left, so I don't think you need to worry about that. Anyway…" Gavroche points the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, something she had not noticed when she first walked in. "Helped me put that up for you. Said daddy told him it was too heavy for you to be setting up, and on top of that, he was sick of waiting, so I brought up the box from downstairs, set up the main part of it and he helped put on the branches."

"Enjolras and I normally set it up the day after Thanksgiving, every year." Éponine reminisces. "Six, maybe seven, years straight."

"Well, we got as far as the branches. He yelled at me for trying to put on the lights, and reminded me so much like his father it scared me."

"Really?" she asks, surprised by this one detail.

He nods. "He didn't want to decorate the tree without you _and_ Enjolras there. He wanted to stay up and wait for you two to get home, and I almost let him, but after Courfeyrac's phone call, I put him to bed. He should stay there—he was almost asleep by the time his head hit the pillow."

"Thanks, Gav—I appreciate it."

"It's no trouble at all, Ép." he says with a weak smile. "Is there anything else I can do?"

Éponine takes a small look around the room, and then heaves a sigh. "Is it obvious that my answer to that would be I just want him home?"

"It's not a surprise, but at this point, I think everyone wants him home. I think he wants to be home. Joly, too."

"It has to be tough on him, too, thinking you'll be coming home one day and then a few short hours later, one of your closest friends is laying bleeding out on a table…" Éponine eases herself on the couch, trying to keep herself together. "And that you aren't coming home until he's well enough to come home."

"He's missed Musichetta and now Bossuet. Courf told me he was really looking forward to coming home and hoping that the baby didn't come before he stepped a foot off that plane."

"He hasn't missed it so far." Éponine says with a small laugh, "but perhaps that's a good thing, though I do wish her luck if it's only Bossuet."

"Bossuet's better than no one, I suppose." Gavroche counters, taking a seat beside his sister. "His luck may not be in his own favor, but hopefully it evens out somewhere, yes?"

She nods, and she hears a bedroom door creaking from the hall, followed by the pitter-patter of feet that could only be her son. The four-year-old emerges from the hall, appearing to be nervous about being caught out of bed. Upon seeing his mother and uncle, he tries to disappear from sight, but he stops at the sound of his mother's voice.

"Matthieu, why aren't you in bed?" she asks sternly. The little boy walks back into sight, but keeps close to the entrance of the hall. He looks around the room, and seems to be disappointed by the time he is finished.

"Momma, where's daddy?" he asks innocently, and begins to seek out places as if playing "hide-and-go-seek." His mother told him before she left the house that she was bringing his father home. "Is he hiding?"

"No." Éponine answers regretfully, not wanting to lie to her son about his father's whereabouts, while at the same time wanting to. "He's not home."

"Is he outside?" Matthieu dashes to the couch, jumping in-between his uncle and Éponine to gaze out the window. "It's dark. Bad things happen in the dark, momma."

"He's not outside, Matthieu." Gavroche answers this time. "He's with a doctor right now."

"Why?"

"He got hurt."

"A bug bite? Did he fall and get a red knee?" the young boy asks simply, his vocabulary not as advanced as the others in his room, but both adults know what he means.

"Red knee, as what happened when you fell off your bike after daddy took the training wheels off?" Éponine asks, and when he nods, it's confirmed he means "scraped knee."

_"Well, he seemed ready!"_

_ "Things are not always what they seem, Enjolras. Didn't your father teach you to ride a bike?"_

_ "My father was killed in a car accident when I was three, remember? My mother taught me and I was off a tricycle by the time I was four."_

_ "He's barely even three!" she argues. "All kids are different and learn at different paces. Just because you were riding a bicycle by age four does not mean Matthieu has to, and the same goes for all of our children we may have in the future."_

_ The argument ended when she handed the dishrag to him, with a sink full of dishes, going off to finish bandaging up their son's injured knee, but even still he tries to have the last word._

"_At least I made sure he was wearing a helmet!"_

"Something like that." Gavroche answers, and the boy sits down in-between them, nearly landing on his mother's lap.

"Careful of the baby." Éponine warns him, a hand protectively placed on her stomach. "Don't want to hurt your little brother or sister."

"No, I don't!" Matthieu answers excitedly, turning things around quickly. "Why are they in there, anyway?"

"They aren't ready to meet us yet—he or she is too small yet."

"But babies _are_ small, momma, I've _seen_ them!" he says, and points to the television screen. "I saw daddy holding one on TV!"

"Oh, really?" Éponine narrows her eyes at Gavroche, whose cheeks redden slightly.

"Yeah!"

"I may or may have not been watching some of your home videos with him while you were gone." Gavroche explains, scratching the back of his neck. "Just the Christmas ones! The two of you have some oddly named ones there that I was scared about putting in."

"You should be!" she smirks before turning her attention back towards her son. "Forgetting that, you need to go back to bed."

"But I don't want to!" he grabs his uncle's arm. "Uncle Gavroche, can you tell momma that I don't have to go to bed yet, please?"

Gavroche shakes his head. "I agree with your momma. It's late, way past your bed time, and I think your daddy would be saying the same thing."

The boy sharply nods his head in reply, then slides of the couch and on his own, returns to his bedroom, leaving Éponine and Gavroche in the living room.

"Speaking of going to bed, that's probably something you and I should be doing." Éponine suggests before she yawns, Gavroche doing the same not long afterwards. "Could you help me up?"

He heaves a sigh before he stands up to help his sister off the couch. "Maybe coming home from college was a bad idea." he says half-jokingly.

"Hey!" she exclaims in mock-offense, and swats at his shoulder. "Note Enjolras and I could have offered you the garage over the spare room, so don't complain!"

"Perhaps I should have asked for the garage instead." Gavroche quips as the two walk through the hall and reach the bedrooms, just about to part ways for the night. "Good night, Ép."

"See you in the morning, Gav."

About three days past, and she doesn't receive a word. She asks any of the Amis she can get ahold of, with the exception of Joly, for any type of information she can get on her husband's condition. None have given her anything, claiming they haven't heard anything new, nothing since they boarded the plane home.

She comes home from a doctor's appointment one evening to find her brother and her sister milling about in the kitchen, with the radio near to its maximum volume, Christmas music blaring to her ears as she sees Matthieu handing her sister a couple of apples from the fridge, while Gavroche seems busy stirring something over the stove.

"What's all this?" she shouts from the doorway.

"What?!" Gavroche and Azelma shout back.

"Turn the music down!" she shouts and Azelma nods, moving towards the radio and turning the music down to a more "preferable" level.

"Now what were you trying to say?" Gavroche asks from the stove.

"What are you all doing?"

"We were trying to surprise you and get this all done before you got home, but I suppose we didn't plan properly." Azelma replies and begins to cut up some apples. "Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes, I think, by the time I finish cutting up the fruit and Gav finishes cooking the pasta."

"You didn't have to—" Éponine is cut off by the sudden sound of the landline phone ringing, before excusing herself and moving towards the living room to pick it up, hoping it wasn't some telemarketer or something like that. "Hello?"

_"Is this Éponine?"_

"Joly?"

_"Hey, Éponine! So glad I could reach you! Are you feeling okay? How's the baby? What's Matthieu up to? Have you heard anything about Musichetta and—?"_

"Whoa, calm down, Joly, one question at a time!" she has to tell him before the hypochondriac goes on and on with his infinite list of questions. "And I'm glad you called. Listen, Joly—"

_"I'm serious, though, really, is Musichetta alright? I haven't heard anything and it's only Bossuet who's with her, and so on."_

"As far as I know, everything is just fine, and before you ask, no, you have not missed anything."

_ "Oh, that's good to hear! If you have a chance, could you tell her just to hang in there? I would do so myself, but Musichetta doesn't keep her phone on most of the time and I'm pretty sure Bossuet lost his cell phone again, that or he dropped it in the fish tank and waterlogged it again."_

"Yes, I will." Éponine nods. "Now, Joly—"

_ "How are you and the baby? Is everything moving along alright? No complications so far, nothing unusual…?"_

"Everything is just fine. Just got home from the doctor's office, actually. The baby is perfectly healthy and the right size at this stage."

_"That's good! Excellent! I'll be sure to pass that on to Enjolras."_

"How is he?"

_"In a bit of pain, has a few wounds sewn up here and there. He's stable enough to fly, though, which is a lot to say after what happened some days back and he's made good progress, healing nicely. Speaking of which, the plane for Germany leaves in about an hour."_

"Could I speak with him?"

_"He's resting right now—the pain medication left him a little drowsy, but don't you fret, I'll make sure he hears of it when he wakes up."_

"I'd appreciate that."

_"Good then. It was nice talking to you, Éponine, but I have to go. There are some final preparations that need to be done quickly before we take off. I'll call you when we land in Germany, and don't forget to talk to Musichetta!"_

"I won't, Joly, now have a safe flight."

_"Alright. Bye!"_

"Goodbye, Joly." she says as she hangs up the phone. She turns her head, to see Azelma, Gavroche, and Matthieu patiently waiting to hear what the phone call was about.

"Well?" her sister asks impatiently after some moments of silence had passed. "Who was that?"

"Joly, and you wouldn't believe what he said!"

"What?" Gavroche asks.

"Enjolras is stable, and their flight for Germany leaves in about an hour, which means they're coming home! Enjolras is coming home!"


	3. Part 3

**Author's Note: Alright, finally did it. I apologize for taking so long to update this, but winter break ended, then there was school...(Hopefully the length makes up for the delay.)**

**Also, there's another Author's Note at the bottom describing where much of this came from, if anyone's interested in that.**

**Enjoy!**

"What do you mean, 'the engine isn't working'? It was just fine a few hours ago, if it was capable of getting us here!" Joly fumes, berating the pilot of the aircraft, perhaps an unwise decision on his part, since they are both standing out in the snow, donning the thickest coats they own, the hypochondriac bundled in his with earmuffs and a thick pair of gloves, his booted feet freezing in the few inches of snow. "I may not be an expert of such technology, but I don't see how there is any sense in it!"

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, sir, but there is no way that this particular aircraft will be taking another flight tonight!" the man tells him. "You may search for another at such short notice, but it's not likely at this hour, near to impossible, and with the sky conditions and the possibility of ice forming on the wings… We do not want to be risking the safety of either of you."

"Risking _our_ safety? We've been risking our own safety for _seven_ months! One of us nearly died, and I am saying that with no exaggeration! _That_ man," Joly points in the direction of closed doors. "That man in there was near death only a few short days ago. Flat-lined _twice_, not once, _twice_! Don't you dare tell me _anything_ about risking safety!"

"Look, I understand you both have probably been through a lot the past half-year, and that you both are eager to go home and reunite with your families, but there is absolutely no way that plane is leaving the ground tonight, I'm sorry."

"They are expecting us home by tomorrow afternoon!"

"He's up!" a voice calls from behind him, nearly scaring him half-to-death. The hypochondriac turns to face the young medic that will most likely be taking the place of Combeferre's successor at their camp. "Sorry to interrupt, but you did want me to fetch you, am I wrong?"

"No, your memory serves you right." Joly replies with a curt nod, his eyes taking a glance at the pilot behind him. "Thank you, Rose. Now, go take a break—you look as if you need it, and I'll keep watch on him for now."

"Are you sure, Doctor?" the medic teases. "The snow's biting at your feet?"

"I would rather not repeat myself, so run along and have a long rest, and I'll wake you with enough time for preparations before the flight leaves. Am I clear?"

"Affirmative." Rose salutes before taking off, and Joly turns to the direction from where the medic came, heaving a quiet sigh before going in that direction.

He opens the doors to see the man lying in the bed (thankfully), and instead of seeing the closed eyes of an injured man, he sees the blue drowsy ones of a suffering man. Joly can tell he's using all his might not to close them, perhaps for the fear of never opening them again, and for that, he doesn't blame him.

"It will be a few hours yet." Joly says rather casually. "No need for you to stay awake. Get some rest while you can, Enjolras—It'll be a long trip home."

"I just want this trip to be over." Enjolras croaks, his voice not up to its normal sound after not being used as much as it usually was for a few days.

"So do I. Seven months is way too long to be apart from anybody." He takes a look at the clipboard that had been placed on one of the seats, going through the many reports and charts scattered upon its sheets. "Everything seems to be normal, vital signs on normal levels, which is a good thing. Shows you're healing quite well, and rather quickly, I might add. Almost as fast as that of a child."

"You say it as if that eases any of the pain." Enjolras counters with deep breath before letting out a sharp hiss of pain that startles Joly almost enough to drop the clipboard.

"Careful!" he advises, setting the clipboard aside and holding out his hands as if he could stop him from doing anything. "Just because you are stable and conscious does not automatically mean that you are entirely in the clear, _mon ami_. As far as healing goes, there's still quite a bit for you to do. Your stitches need to heal up and be removed, your ankle has a few more weeks, and then there's therapy, which is intended to be a benefit, not a burden. Don't push yourself too hard because it will not work in your favor, and I think you and I agree that the last thing Éponine needs is more stress."

"Have you contacted her?" he asks, his tone pained and concerned, a contrast to the protesting voice moments ago. "How is she?"

"She's worried, and in all honesty, I can't say I blame her." Joly heaves a sigh, cautiously taking a seat at the foot of the bed. "She's been through a lot without you there, and this doesn't make things any better."

"You don't think I am aware of that?" The words are harsh, but the feeling of guilt is there. He takes a breath, an attempt to calm down, and then tries to speak again. "She shouldn't have to go through all of this, in my opinion, but I'm glad she's not alone, between Matthieu and Gavroche and Azelma and the Amis…at least she has some support back there without me."

"Yes, but she needs you, too. They can't give her everything, and there are so many things only you can do." Joly pulls out a small photograph out of his coat pocket. Its corners are bent and there are signs of creases where it had been folded. The image, despite its bends and areas where the ink is worn, is a familiar sight, a common image for the both of them as of late. The hypochondriac smiles with the slightest hint of pride, and all Enjolras can do at this point without causing any pain is nod.

"Musichetta sent this to Bossuet and I about two months ago, and I don't think a day has gone by where I haven't looked at it at least once."

"The most recent one Éponine sent me was a week or so ago." Enjolras says thoughtfully. "Thirty weeks, or about that."

"Has she found out if you two are having a boy or a girl?"

He barely shakes his head. "No. We decided to be surprised. And you?"

"A girl." Joly replies nonchalantly, as if speaking such a phrase was commonplace for him. "Going to be just like her mother, I know it."

"You don't sound too thrilled about it."

"Oh, I am! Do not let my tone betray you." The hypochondriac says with a hint of an edge in his voice, despite his optimistic-sounding tone. "I am not as calm as I appear. Almost any second now I could get a phone call from her and/or Bossuet, and the moment that happens I hope my feet are on the other side of the Atlantic."

There a pause in the conversation for a few moments, and the reason as to why is unknown. Things remain still, whether it's tension, grief, or pain, neither of them dare to speak until Enjolras' voice suddenly cuts through.

"With this wrench in the plans, do you know when we will leave here or get home?" Enjolras asks warily, a trace of pain evident in his voice. His pain medication was probably wearing off.

"If the plane leaves by sunrise, we could get home sometime early the following morning." Joly states matter-of-factly, but as he continues on, there's doubt in his words. "However, by the sounds of it, we could be here awhile, 'less there's another plane, and the weather isn't helping the situation out much either, with the oncoming storm and the frigid temperatures."

"Define 'awhile.'"

"A few more days at most, which on some level, could be to your benefit. Given a day or so, I'll be able to monitor how much the flight affected certain conditions, positive and negative, so I know what to expect and be prepared for it while we're in flight."

"Shouldn't that have been done already?" Enjolras questions, with the suggestion of anger in his voice.

"To a point, yes, but flight affects some aspects, and that could not be tested until we were sure you were in stable condition, for it would be unwise to travel if you weren't." Joly replies, getting off the bed before going through his supplies. "How do you feel? On a scale of one to ten, how much pain do you think you're in at the moment?"

"Three."

The hypochondriac's eyebrows furrow in confusion, before giving a knowing look in Enjolras' direction, mostly out of the belief that his friend/patient is being modest and doesn't want to cause him much trouble by saying otherwise. "Are you sure about that?"

"Possibly six, but I would not say much more."

"Are you sure about that?" Joly repeats, based upon the unconfident reply. "Note you are not a burden and I am only trying to help you. I want an honest reply from you to ensure that I am helping you to the best of my ability."

"I feel rather uncomfortable at the moment, Joly, and I cannot say much more without causing repetition. Does that satisfy you enough?"

He nods in reply, and obtains the appropriate amount of medication before passing it on to Enjolras. "If you feel tired, don't fight it. Rest, if you must. Actually, I should be telling you to rest, as an order. Do you understand?"

He replies with a curt nod.

Joly sits on the foot of the bed for the next few moments, and not just for observational purposes. Even as he watches him slowly relax and allow the presence of sleep, he remains. For a reason he cannot name in his mind, he feels as if he cannot leave, as if he has been frozen there, becoming a statue.

He recalls the night well. He hates to think about it, but it's there, a memory forever branded in his mind. He remembers the panicked faces of Courfeyrac and Bossuet as they rushed to inform their superiors of the incident. He recalls the many men he considered comrades leave the camp, asking himself how many would come back. He can see the frightful look in Combeferre's eyes as he arrived at the camp with Enjolras in his arms, his uniform seemingly covered in their friend's blood, some of the scarlet liquid dripping down on the ground at his feet.

He prays that Enjolras doesn't have such detail of the event in his memory.

_She can hear the sound of gunshots ringing in her ears. She can hear his voice shouting commands she cannot make out. She can see dust everywhere, blinding her sight to the point where she can barely see a foot in front of her. She can feel the ground shaking beneath her feet as a grenade goes off nearby, so loud she swears that she was deaf for a few seconds. She can hear countless of anguished cries and dying screams as she sees faceless soldiers fall to the ground, forever lost in this desert battlefield._

_ His voice grows louder, more fearful, more panicked all-too-quickly. She can see his face, covered in soot, sweat, and a dark red liquid, as he runs towards her. She cannot help but feel relieved yet fearful at the same time as he draws near. He's barking something at her, something she cannot make out still, and his voice repeats it, growing in urgency as he gets closer, and it isn't until he tackles her to the ground does she pick up on his reasons._

_ They're all that's left._

_ His breath is ragged as he shields her from whatever harm she can't see, and that's when she feels a drop of liquid upon her skin. She tries to look at it, but finds it unnecessary, knowing there's only one possibility in which it could be, and she doesn't have to search for long to find its source._

_ She can see the weakness in his eyes, and she begins to plead with him, begging him to hold on as he lies on his back, his breathing becoming more difficult as the sight of blood is more apparent. He's fighting death with every breath, and she continues to demand that he holds on, to not give in. She screams at him helplessly, her eyes not leaving him at all as she hopes help will arrive in time._

_ Her cries become more desperate with each ticking moment, as his breath grows shallower, more scarlet on the ground._

_ "Stay with me, please!" she begs, the tears streaming down her face. "Just hold on, Enjolras, hold on."_

_ She feels someone wrap their arms around her as she continues to scream. He's getting further away from her as his chest shakes with every breath, she knows it, and she grabs onto him without letting go, her pleading starting to quiet as it evolves into sobs of desperation._

_ "_Éponine_!" a voice calls out, but it's not his._

_ "_Momma_!" another voice, not his._

Her eyes flash open, and she finds herself in almost complete darkness, Gavroche with his arms around her and Matthieu standing at the foot of the bed with fear in his eyes. She can feel herself shaking as she clings on to her brother tighter and he slowly rocks back and forth in hopes to bring her some kind of comfort. The tears on her face are there as she tries to gain control, but she can't, and her whimpers are just loud enough for her son to hear as the young boy crawls onto the bed and hugs his mother.

"It's only a dream, momma." Matthieu says calmly, despite witnessing who knows how much of his mother's episode. "It's not real."

She shakily reaches over and strokes her son's cheek, a small smile forming on her face. The fear and shock of the nightmare slowly begins to wear off, and neither Gavroche nor Matthieu let go of her, the alarm starting to diminish as the feeling of warmth and comfort takes over.

She can't help but feel nervous as she once again waits for him in the hangar, her coat, hat, and gloves not enough to avoid the winter chill. She had had trouble getting there on the snowy roads, and was unsure if she would make it there in time to see his plane land. She had seen a couple results of collisions as she drove on, hoping none involved fatalities this close to the holiday season, keeping in mind how close she had been to such a scenario.

Little Matthieu sat by her side, drawing in the sketchbook Feuilly had given him for his birthday earlier that year. It was halfway full with dozens of sketches, some of which she believed were well-done by a boy his age. Every now and then, she peaks over to see what her son had been drawing, and from the looks of it, people were starting to take shape, four of them, from what she could tell, a house resembling their own slightly in the background.

"What do you have there?" she asks, curiosity winning her over as she shifts in her seat. The little boy apparently had not noticed his mother had been watching him, and he quickly shuts the sketchbook.

"Nothing, momma!" he replies, hugging his sketchbook, fearing she might snatch it from him.

"Alright." She returns to her original position, looking away from her son's direction, but enough to still see her son cautiously open the sketchbook once more, obviously making sure she isn't looking at his artwork before continuing onwards with it.

An hour passes, and nothing of the plane.

_It should have been here by now…_Éponine thinks to herself, worry starting grip her. _Surely if the weather delayed the plane, we would have heard of it by now._

Another hour goes by, and still no sign of him.

She has the sudden thought to get up and ask about the delay, when her phone goes off. She hesitates for a moment, not so much concerned over answering what is most likely a petty phone call (probably Gavroche asking what drawer the silverware is…again), but then grabs it quickly to answer it before she can give it a second thought.

"Hello?"

"_Hi, Éponine—It's Bossuet. Have they landed yet?_"

"Not yet, from what I know, but I suppose I should be asking why I see no sign of either you or Musichetta here. You have noticed Joly's absence, correct?"

"_We most definitely have!_" he replies, sounding slightly offended. "_And we would be, too, if it weren't for the baby_."

"The baby? What happened?!" she asks, her voice concerned.

"_We were on our way there, but then Musichetta was suddenly in terrible pain, by the sounds of it. She told me not to worry, but then there was the on-and-off pattern, and after the second time, I felt as if I had no choice but to take her to the hospital_."

"You mean she's in _labor_?" Éponine asks in astonishment. "When did it start?"

"_A couple of hours ago, and from what I am hearing, everything is moving along smoothly but slowly_." Bossuet reports. "_Anyway, Éponine, by any chance could you drop off Joly here after they land, or at least have him ride home with you? Otherwise, he might have to call a cab or something, but you know we'll never hear the end of it as he can't stand those things_."

"Of course I can, no trouble at all."

"_Oh, thank you, Éponine_!" he says quickly. "_Have to go! Thanks again!_"

"No prob—" she doesn't have a chance to finish her sentence as the other end hangs up, and she leans back in her seat, heaving an exasperated sigh before returning her phone to her coat pocket. _At least Matthieu isn't complaining…yet…_

About fifteen minutes go by when she hears the roaring over her head, and she doesn't have to think twice about what that means.

"Plane!" Matthieu says excitedly, almost throwing his sketchbook onto the painted concrete floor. "Momma, that's a plane!"

"Yes, it is!" Éponine replies, standing from her chair. "And you know who is on that plane?"

"Daddy!" he almost shrieks, and hurriedly shoves his sketchbook into his mother's messenger bag along with the pencils he had been using. The little boy jumps up and down, taking hold of his mother's hands. "Let's go, let's go!"

"Hold on, Matthieu. Just give me a moment." she tells him as she stiffly stands up, placing a hand over her stomach as she does so. The two of them walk hand-in-hand as they approach the outside of the hangar.

She takes a deep breath, watching the plane's descent before it makes its landing on the snow-cleared runway. Even amidst the darkness of the night and the flurry of snowflakes, she can make out the plane maneuver along the paths, taking great care with every turn.

There are tears in her eyes before the plane comes to a complete stop, a good two-hundred meters away. She is holding her son close, firmly grasping his shoulders as her eyes remain locked on the plane's entrances and exits, not sure of which one he will emerge from. At first he tries to fight with her because of it, but then ceases just as quickly.

For her, the remaining moments of waiting take forever, as she is highly anticipating seeing him again after all this time. She doesn't know whether he'll need assistance in walking or if he'll be still lying down in a bed, but finally have him home alive is enough for her.

Joly is the first one she sees emerging from the back end of the plane, she's sure of it, turning around to speak to someone close behind him, but she can't see who. He seems to be rather direct with the person, whether it's making sure everything is taken care of properly or making a complaint in regards to sanitation, something he has done as long as she has known him.

"Are you sure you're fine like this? You shouldn't be straining yourself if you aren't."

"Joly, I'm sure of it." comes the confident reply.

"Alright, but let me know if something is bothering you, and don't be afraid to say it. That last thing anyone needs is you hurting yourself even more."

She notices the hypochondriac quickly dart back into the plane, and a shred of worry is felt, without the knowledge of why he did so. She holds her breath for a moment, wondering if something had happened during the landing that had been missed up until then, but she relaxes when he emerges once again, this time with a crouched over figure at his side, as if guiding him.

She doesn't find the need to question who the figure was, it was instinct. She lets the tears fall, and a part of her doesn't completely understand why she is shedding the tears. She feels a small tap from where her hand was placed on her stomach, as if the baby picked up on what was going on, and she smiles a little bit more.

She doesn't even try to stop Matthieu as he takes off in their direction, wasting no time in making it towards the hypochondriac and the figure beside him. She takes off after him in a hurried walk, careful not to slip on the pavement, her eyes not leaving the nearing men. The figure appears to be hurrying in his pace, as fast as Joly and his crutches will allow.

"Daddy!" Éponine hears the little boy squeal as he almost tries to leap into his father's arms, but hesitates and stops at the last possible moment, obviously taking note of the crutches that his father was using to keep his stance with his left ankle not touching the ground at all. "You hurt!"

He smiles a bit and nods, slight laughter in his voice. "Yes, I got hurt, Matthieu."

"Are you okay?" Matthieu asks with a concerned voice, his eyes observing the crutches.

"He will be." Joly answers quickly, and Enjolras rolls his eyes at the hypochondriac's words.

"As long as he doesn't push himself too far." Éponine quips, and Enjolras' eyes dart in her direction, as if he had only just noticed her presence. The light in his eyes is difficult to be mistaken, and she does not have to be told to know that had it not been for his injuries, he would have embraced her on the spot. She comes closer, a few feet and Matthieu between them as they both struggle not to let their emotions get the better of them.

"Éponine…" he breathes, as if his voice is overcome with awe. He looks up and down, taking everything in that was difficult to do so with the lack of her physical presence. "My…Look at you…"

"I'm huge, I know." she says to complete the phrase, knowing most likely that was what he was about to say, a cliché, she thinks. She can feel the red rush to her cheeks as she tries to avoid meeting his gaze, but she cannot help but notice the slow shake of his head as she does so.

"No, not that…I mean, yes, you are, but that wasn't what I was trying to say."

"Have I put the grand orator at a loss for words?" she asks with a tease in her voice, a hint of her younger self shining through, and she can see the small chuckle he tries to avoid letting out, as does Joly, who is not as successful in such a feat. There is a short silence among them, before Éponine comes to a sudden realization of what she had been asked to do.

She immediately directs her attention towards Joly, no hesitation before she says, "We need to get to the hospital."

The hypochondriac's eyes glance at the ground before turning his head towards Enjolras, then looking back at her again. "What?"

"The baby waited for you to get home, as luck would have it, and Bossuet asked me to take you there." Éponine unintentionally explains vaguely, and much to her surprise, he nods, before his eyes go wide as he realizes what she means. She notices how he begins to take deep breaths, trying to keep himself calm in front of them.

"We should be going then." he exhales, and within fifteen minutes, they are in the car and ready to go.

She isn't surprised when Joly bolts from the car the moment she puts the car in park, nor is she surprised when she watches him nearly trip over the curb when he reaches the sidewalk.

"He would have been an excellent sprinter on the track team had he joined." Enjolras comments as Éponine carefully helps him out of the back seat, crutches and all, Matthieu standing there to watch, and she can't help but smirk at that. "The physical education teacher pleaded him to, countless numbers of times in high school."

"I've heard the story." she replies, handing him his crutches before the trio of them make their way to the hospital's entrance.

When they arrive at the waiting room, she is a bit surprised when she makes the observation that other than them; only Corinne and Combeferre are there, as well as a pacing Bossuet and hyperventilating Joly. Combeferre appears to be telling the hypochondriac to calm down and takes deep breaths, but isn't so successful, while Corinne calmly sits and watches everything happen around her without getting involved, perhaps because she knows that there is nothing she can do at this point in time.

"Is everything alright?" Enjolras asks after seeing the scene before him. Joly looks up at him but remains silent in voice, while Bossuet appears not to hear him. Combeferre shakes his head, and Corinne gets out of her chair and approaches them, pulling them aside.

"All we know is that something was wrong, and around the time Joly walked in, he and Bossuet were told to leave the room. No explanation." Corinne explains. "And it must be bad, if they wouldn't let them stay."

"That doesn't sound right." Éponine responds, her eyebrows furrowed. "Even if it was bad, they should have let them stay, or at least told them why."

"They didn't, which as you can see, doesn't help the situation much." Corinne sighs, looking back at Joly and Bossuet. "Poor guys. One barely home for two weeks and another for barely a few hours, and then this happens."

The next ten minutes are long for them, but when Joly and Bossuet are called back suddenly, they don't hesitate. Both are stopped for a moment, perhaps on the grounds of paternity, but when Joly's fretting gets worse as he explains everything, the two of them are allowed in, seemingly with reluctance.

About an hour passes, and restlessness appears in all of them, with the exception of Matthieu, who had fallen asleep and was using his father's lap as a pillow. Combeferre and Corinne are conversing back and forth, the topic shifting from what could possibly be going on back there to possibly starting a family of their own soon to what their plans are for the next few days. Éponine absentmindedly was running a hand over her round stomach, worrying about what may and would happen in a few months' time, what has already happened. Enjolras must have noticed this, at least the part of which some unpleasant thoughts were running through her mind, and he places a hand atop hers, which distracts her from her thoughts.

"Everything is going to be alright." he tells her softly. "Musichetta and their baby will be okay, you and our baby will be okay. There is nothing to worry about."

She heaves a nervous sigh, her eyes staring downwards. "You can't say that for sure, that everything will be okay, especially after what happened to you."

He remains quiet, as if shocked by her words and unable to respond. She glances at him, wondering if he's still there, which he is. She knows he's fine now, out of danger and currently away from death's door, but she cannot shake the feelings of loss and hurt. Though on the outside, he behaves like the same man she knew when he board the plane seven-and-a-half months ago, deep down he's different. The only injury visible to her at the moment is his badly sprained ankle, but underneath his uniform, she knows there are places where his skin will be forever scarred by bullets, no matter how much time passes. She is aware that the depths of his mind are forever changed by his experience on the battlefield, by the countless number of men forever lost around him. There is so much he has seen that time will most likely never erase, no matter how hard they try. Everything he went through will be branded in his mind, things she will never be able to understand fully, no matter how many years pass.

"Stop stressing yourself over that," he says finally, his hand gently sliding underneath her chin as he turns her head to face him, careful not to disturb their son's slumber. "Everything will be fine."

"Saying that isn't going to automatically make it true." Éponine says bitterly, removing his hand from her chin.

"It will be if you believe enough." Enjolras replies quietly, looking her in the eye before directing his gaze towards her swollen stomach. "And I promised I would come back. You know I wouldn't break such a promise."

"You would have come home regardless if you were standing on two feet or if a flag was draped over your coffin."

"You don't need to worry about that anymore because I'm right here, and I am not going anywhere anytime soon." He once again places a hand on her stomach, and smiles, returning his attention to her. "I will be right here, not missing another thing. Time is too precious, and I don't think it takes much for anyone to agree with that."

"Life is a precious thing, too, Enjolras." she counters, her voice a little softer now. "All life is."

"Life gave me something to come back to." At first, she thinks he is just referring to their unborn child, but then, knowing Enjolras, there's more to it than that. He continues on. "You, Matthieu, the baby…you are all important to me, and losing any of you would break me down. On top of that, there's the Amis, and so much beyond that."

"Don't forget we think about you the same way." Éponine reminds, leaning over a bit, brushing a hand through his hair slowly. She jumps slightly, feeling a small kick from the child within her. "And so does she…or he…"

"I won't. You won't let me." he says with some amusement in his voice. His focus turns once again to her round stomach, rubbing it gently with his hand. "You won't let me, either, will you?"

"Enjolras…" she rolls her eyes before returning her attention to the bonding between her husband and their baby. She is tempted to remind him that they are in a public place (since he would rarely do something like that outside the privacy of their own home), but seeing him behave in such a manner, after such a long time apart, brings her comfort. It's something from him she hasn't seen in months, and reveals to her that though the fighting was a traumatic experience for him, the fact that he can come home and act as if nothing has changed or affected him at all…she knows that not all of those who return from war adjust to life back at home so easily and so quickly.

He must have felt her watching him (not that that was avoidable), based upon how his eyes flicker up at her. "I know, but I've missed out on a lot, not being here."

"Was I complaining?" Éponine asks with a hint of laughter in her voice. She sees a small shake of his head before he sits back up at the sound of doors opening, either because he didn't want others to notice or because there was the possibility of hearing something about Musichetta and the baby, or maybe even a mixture of the two.

She turns her head to see Joly, dressed in scrubs, his uniform underneath. He smiles, which is good, but when he tries to speak, it appears he just can't find the words, and the sound comes out at a short and quiet squeal. Bossuet emerges from behind him, rather calm compared the hypochondriac.

"She's here!" he announces, pride in his voice, and Joly nods eagerly as in agreement.

"How's Musichetta?" Combeferre asks, slowly rising from his seat, Corinne standing beside him.

"Both mother and baby are in perfect health, the best we can ask for." Bossuet reports without hesitation.

"Any reason given as to why you two were asked to leave?" Corinne questions.

"To run a few tests, I suppose, but why we couldn't be there for them is a mystery to me." Joly answers, finally able to speak. "But everything is alright now. No issues whatsoever."

"Have you held her yet?" Éponine asks, and both nod in reply.

"Only for a few moments, but we figured it'd be best not to keep you all waiting." Bossuet replies, looking in Enjolras' direction. "There's been enough waiting around as there is."

"Hm?" He looks up quickly, apparently his attention taken away from the conversation by Matthieu, who momentarily stirred on his poor excuse for a bed (a few armless chairs), turning his head on his father's lap.

"Enough for all of us to last a lifetime." Joly adds, Enjolras still having a look of confusion on his face.

"Pardon?"

Éponine places a hand upon his shoulder. "Nothing to worry over, dear. Musichetta and the baby are fine, and speaking of which, do you three have any names picked out?"

Bossuet looks at Joly, who shrugs, in hesitation. "In a manner, yes."

"Elizabeth Jeannine." Joly says, almost unsure of himself. "It's not set in stone at the moment, but it is one of the few we could agree on or bring compromise to. What about you two, in regards to your future little one?"

"Not at this time, no, but some ideas have surely crossed our minds, right, Enjolras?" Éponine turns her head towards him, his reply being nothing more than a noncommittal 'hm.' He appears to be tired, and she assumes it's a mixture of whatever medication Joly has him on and the long trip he had coming home.

She takes that as a sign that it's time for the three of them to head home. _Home_, home. They say their goodbyes and make their exit, Enjolras gently rousing Matthieu from his sleep to do so.

The half-an-hour car ride is a quiet one, as Matthieu falls asleep before the car makes it out of the parking lot and Enjolras dozes off ten minutes in, finally giving in after startling himself awake a countless number of times. She has the radio on the whole ride on a normal-yet-quiet volume, as to avoid waking either of them until they get home. Gavroche meets them outside, acknowledging Enjolras finally being home before collecting the still-sleeping Matthieu from his car seat as Éponine helps her husband out of the car. Few words are said otherwise, until they are settled in for the night.

"Is it strange being home?" Éponine asks him as she crawls into the bed beside him stiffly, careful not to hit his ankle with her feet.

"What?" he asks with a yawn before sitting up a little bit. "Oh. In a way, yes, because I know tomorrow on can wake up and not worry about whether or not I'll see the next sunrise. No, because I'm finally where I need to be."

She rolls over to her side, facing him. "So you don't find it strange that you can peacefully sleep over constantly fretting over a possible attack?"

"No…possibly…on some scale, yes." Enjolras answers with a slight shrug. "And though I have less to worry about, it doesn't mean I'll sleep any easier."

"How so?"

"Well, there's you and Matthieu. Don't think that I don't worry about you two on a day-to-day basis, regardless of where I am."

"I know." she smiles a bit before she decides to stick her hand in his hair to mess it up (not that the curls make it look like he just crawled out of bed anyway).

She gets a small rise of laughter out of it, perhaps a hint of a smile as well, before he suddenly twitches and lets out a small hiss of pain. A part of her panics for a moment because it slipped her mind that he hasn't fully recovered from his injuries yet, but a slight raise of the hand is his signal that he's fine.

"It's alright, Ép—nothing to worry about." he tells her quietly, lying back down on the bed. "I have trouble remembering, too, at times. I just have to be careful."

She only nods before she reaches from behind her to turn off the light before lying down on her side, facing him. Even in the darkness, she can see the outlines of the bandages wrapping his torso from underneath his shirt. She's nervous to reach out and touch him, afraid to even lean her head against his shoulder, not wanting to hurt him anymore than he already has been. She can make out the healing, practically faded scratch along his forehead, perhaps from the same event that left him in a near-death state.

"Matthieu waited for you to get home to put the ornaments on the tree." she says once she can no longer stand the silent darkness. "According to Gavroche, when they put up the tree, he made a fuss of it."

"He didn't have to."

"He didn't want to put to put them up without you there. It didn't feel right without you there, and neither of us fought him on it, well, because…you weren't here."

"Éponine…" he breathes, and she only now realizes that her breathing was uneven, that she was beginning to get herself worked up about this once more. "It's alright. I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere, you hear me?"

"Mhm." She takes a deep breath, her body shaking as she feels his arms wrap around her, her head nuzzled up against his chest. She tries to slide closer to him, but she'll have to do with what she's got, her swollen stomach preventing her from getting any closer.

She expects him to let go once she calms down, figuring he might be ignoring the pain he's in for her sake, but when she hears the sound of his soft snoring beside her, the thought leaves her mind, her worries ceasing.

"Good night, Enjolras." she whispers. _I'm glad you're finally home._

**Author's Note: First off, I want to thank everyone for their support. Honestly, I was surprised by the response this got, and it was well-appreciated.**

**When I started writing this, my main goal was trying to make this as "realistic" as possible. I had to do some research, and having family members in the armed forces helped me out with that. Though I am not familiar with the experience of losing a loved one during their service, I am familiar with family members leaving and coming back (more than once).**

**For those interested in knowing this, my original inspiration for this story was the song, "I'm Already There" by Lonestar. There's a version out there somewhere that includes messages from family members to those serving overseas. I highly recommend listening to them. (If you go through _Part 1_ again, you might be able to catch some of the lyrics woven in there.)**

**Originally, as in the early stages of Part 1, I had almost every intention to kill off Enjolras, but then halfway through it, I realized I _couldn't_ do it, not in this. I tried to lessen things, but during my research, I found out certain aspects just wouldn't work, so I tried again and again until something clicked. I hope it was satisfying enough.**

**I don't know what I'll do next, but I'm considering writing a series of one-shots from the perspectives of other characters (Musichetta, Gavroche, Corinne, etc.) within the same universe. Let me know what you think of that possibility.**

**Once again, thank you so much for reading this and cannot wait to hear what you think!**


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